Dear Spike,
by Just My Heart
Summary: On the night he will likely die, Spike recieves a letter from Drusilla....


Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the show Buffy, including the characters and locations. I own nothing in that area at all. Say it with me: this is just fanfiction.

* * *

He only had one last wish.

All he knew was that before the final showdown, Spike was intent upon fulfilling every last urge he had. This included reading his poetry on open mic night (with the help of a few shots of whiskey), saying his last goodbyes, and getting in one hell of a shag.

Of course, there was one last thing he wanted to do, he just didn't think it was possible, therefore he tried to brush it off his mind. He wanted to see Drusilla again. Tell her how he felt. To apologize.

And little did Spike know, his black beauty felt the same way.

The vampire stormed into his apartment, completing each wish of his except for his last one. He had no idea where to find Drusilla. As far as he knew, she could be dead, a thought which pained him to contemplate. No matter how much he didn't want to admit it, he still loved her -- and definately always would.

That's when he found the letter.

Placed intentionally on the floor, it swam in the sea of green carpet and old tv manuals, it's black, wax seal shocking the environment with elegance.

"It's called mailboxes, people." Spike informed, his speech slurred from alcohol consumption. "It's what you do, when you know, you want to send a letter or something." The drunk stumbled as he picked up the message before flopping himself on the couch with a large thud. However his casual demeanor was wiped away when he tore open the envelope, replaced with blank sincerity. He was hallucinating, he had to be. Too much alcohol, way too fast. He knew he should have stopped at twenty shots, or else stuff like this was bound to happen. It just wasn't an option, there was simply no way...

Yet he couldn't rip his eyes from the letter, it's beautiful symbols manuscripted by her. By his princess. By Drusilla.

_

* * *

_

_Dear Spike,_

_I went looking for you a little while ago, back at your crypt. I think you'll be very cross to know that Sunnydale has turned into a large crater, along with your quaint little set up. Oh my, it looks like we've missed a good time._

_But that's not the real reason I'm writing. The air shudders, Spike. It's preparing for a terrible descent as we all fall down. I fear that the world is ending, only this time not by Angelus' hands. And the little pixies didn't whisper this one to me, it was my heart, it's always my heart, singing my love for you for it knows nothing else. Can you hear it too?_

_A strange thing happened to me today. I awoke from my slumber, but I saw no magic in this world. No creatures, no voices. My dollies uttered not a word and Miss Edith refused to move at all. My own world crumbled from my imagination, soon to be followed by this one, I expect. It doesn't matter, it all feels empty without you anyway. What good is wrapping paper without a present, I ask? I'm tired of living in a shell, Spike. This play is only good until the curtain closes, and we're on the finishing act. Tell me, deary, how does the story conclude? I want to see how it ends._

_However in this moment of almost lucidity, I need to say I'm sorry. Forgive me for the chaos demon, forgive me for my disloyalty. Even if you can never love me again, I want you to know that I would take back the bad if I could. I would revoke all of it, just to see you smile again. At me._

_We've only the last chapter left, and I don't want a sad ending, I've never liked tragedies. Tell me, beloved. How shall we make this story end? With a bang? A crash? Or maybe we'll just fade away..._

_... But you'll never fade away. Not from me. Not from my memory, and never from my heart. 'Til we next meet, dear William._

_Love,_

_Drusilla_

* * *

It was there her words ended, that delicately scribbled name finishing her note with it's splendor. Just to think, her hand wrote that, her mind conceived the words to put them on paper. Her hands delivered it. She had actually taken the time to...

A tear dripped from his icy blues, not from sadness, but from nostalgia. From amazement. From happiness. Any emotion he could conjure besides grief welled inside him until he was saturated, he mind firmly made up. He told Buffy once that, 'he wanted to see how it ends.' It was his last words to her. However at that time, it wasn't known that he'd be the one to choose the ending, he was the one holding the ink and quill. Empty pages lie before him, begging to be inscribed then closed in the book of his life, of their lives together. Of Spike and Drusilla.

He stashed the memorandum in the leather duster, knowing full well how the closing act would take place. He now had something - someone - to fight for again, and she didn't wield a stake or cross. Instead, her hands clutched a doll to her chest, eyes beaming with requited love...

And after the final battle was fought, Spike knew exactly what he would do. After all, Drusilla had been wrong about one thing: she said it was the end, that the world would be defeated and our champions would fail. Not necessarily. So many choices could be made afterwards, a new outlook on existence would be born, but only one choice seemed right to him...

It wasn't the end of them -- the centuries welded them together like hot steel. No matter how much no one would believe him, or the amount of willpower it took, William would find Drusilla and make her his own again.

Dru'd never stopped caring about him, not really, and obviously he felt the same way. God, he regretted threatening to kill her for Buffy. He lamented even taking her from his sight, that angel of darkness that loved him so. However that was over, and he could see with perfect clarity now that only one woman truly had his heart.

And that woman's name was Drusilla.

* * *


End file.
